You can hear silence, if you listen.
        Stop your breathe and tap
          into the empty.

Oh chalice of hope, too often
        left unfilled, drain
          the resistance.

Lie back, close the thoughts
        and open your eyes.
Believing does not
        require seeing.

Allow sentence after sentence
        to remain unanswered.
Be unrestricted enough
        to not be alarmed.

Fountain of ice, melt away
        and liquefy into sharp
          pencils of vision.

Sighing in peace, letting
        the lace curtains of
          contentment to rise.

Skin to be stroked
        with the developing
        essence of being
        in contemplative mode.

You can hear silence, if you listen.
        Listen now.

The rock that once balanced on the mountain
has now tumbled down and blocked the only pass,
the valley remains cut-off, unable to sustain
even prayers could not move the big stubborn mass.

When great minds converge, they carry burden of hopes,
when creativity has to come out of neccessity,
esoteric ideas amalgamate with ladders and ropes.

Sheer force was unable to move the heavy bull
the ram was dropped and chisel was chosen,
it was time to think whether destruction can be beautiful

That which cannot be moved, can be carved to perfection
suited to your need, can bloom with painstaking nurture.
The valley now has become a source of attraction
with a tall structure on pass, called a gateway to the future.

One day
I'll write poetry that
does not echo in his honor,
or shatter hearts like his hands
so unforgivably did.

But unfortunately,
and as misfortune may have it,
these words still breathe for him.